


(Nine) and Breathing

by nahemaraxe (zephyrina)



Series: Archunters Verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Gen, Hunter Gabriel, Hunter Lucifer, Hunter Michael, Hurt/Comfort, Shapeshifters - Freeform, the first time Gabriel kills a monster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephyrina/pseuds/nahemaraxe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel's first killing happens on the day of his birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Nine) and Breathing

It’s his ninth birthday today.

Less than three months ago, Gabriel thought he’d spend it with his brothers at the amusement park. Luce would have taken him to the rollercoaster, the big one with bunny hoops and tunnels, while Raph and Mike would have played pinball at the arcade. They would have eaten too much cotton candy, tried and failed to win prizes at the stands, and once they got home, Mom would have already picked a cake from the bakery. Later on, after everyone sang ‘happy birthday to you’ and handed him their presents, Jimmy and Pete would have come over. He and his two best friends in the world would have spent the night playing videogames and stealing Raph’s beloved comics without getting caught. It would have been the most awesome day of his life. It would have.

It’s his ninth birthday today, and any dream Gabriel had for it has turned into ashes. Mom and Dad are gone; Raph is dead. He almost died too, first because of the monster - a ru-ga-ru, according to Michael - and then because of the infection in his shin. His friends (and teachers, and the neighbor, Mrs. Jones, who was teaching him how to take nice pictures, and his football coach, Mr. Rogers) are carrying on with lives he’s not included in any longer. Within a year, tops, they won’t even remember his face.

It’s his ninth birthday today, and his brothers did take him to an amusement park, only this one seems more of a creepshow than a happy place. There’s nothing funny in the carousel swings covered in rust or the giant clown head whose paint is peeling off. There’s no lingering smell of butter and hotdogs, no lights switched on, no working rides; just decay and stagnant water. From where Gabriel is standing, halfway between the car and the main gates, he can also see the ferris wheel and the loops of the coaster, all stark and still and silent against the sky.

(Waiting)

Gabriel inhales, exhales. Debris litters the ground; a phone handset here, smashed glass there. He nudged some with the tip of his shoe before, when minutes didn’t seem to pass and impatience gave way to boredom. Now that darkness is looming though, he doesn’t feel like it anymore. Monsters are real. Michael and Lucifer are inside the park, hunting one in that very moment, and disturbing the place (attracting attention) would be stupid. Sure, he’s (clutching at a gun he doesn’t really know how to handle) armed and he’s a big kid, he’s nine, but. But.

“It’s fine,” he whispers, looking past the gates and then back at the car. “I’m fine.”

The sun is about to set. Shadows grow longer and bigger, and sometimes they seem to convey toward him, crawling; he catches them with the corner of an eye, spins around, and they’re far closer than they should have been. Gabriel doesn’t know how’s that possible, he’s only sure he doesn’t want to step on them. They give off those weird, cold vibes, and—

_(monsters are real, shadows got claws, Mike was right is right it’s all true alltrueall—)_

—and he wishes he was somewhere else. Anywhere, just as long as they turn the car around and leave that stupid town. He doesn’t even care anymore about the ice cream his brothers promised they’d get him later, with syrup and sprinkles and the nine-shaped candle Luce shoplifted the day before. To hell with it.

“Please, get outta there,” Gabriel says. He strains his neck to have a better look inside then steps around the shadow of the ticket stand, going as far as he dares. Up close, he hears the swings rattle, dinging and clinking and clanging against each other whenever some breeze blows past them. They make so much noise that at first, he doesn’t pick up the other sound. It’s a softer one. It comes from the playground.

“Luce?” Gabriel calls. His voice doesn’t shake, but the gun feels heavy in his hands. He brings it up, arms outstretched and careful to keep the muzzle pointed toward the ground, just like Michael showed him. “Luce, it’s you? Mike?”

Something creaks, something else snaps, and a boy emerges from between the tube slides and the seesaw. It’s Lucifer.

+

Gabriel would sag on the ground in relief - he would - if Luce wasn’t almost naked. His brother is in his underwear, standing barefoot among the moss and the dirt; the chill air is making him shiver, he’s heaving as if he ran through the whole park, and he’s holding his side with both hands.

“Luce!”

“Gabe, I—” Luce lets his voice trail off, but Gabriel doesn’t have to hear the rest to tell that his brother is hurt. He wore that very same expression last year, when he slipped down the rock he was climbing and broke his elbow. The stricken look, the way his breath hitches act as deja-vu, and Gabriel’s eyes wander to Luce’s arm, fully expecting to see a cast.

(For a moment, a brief instant, there is a cast. It has Gabriel’s name scrawled on it, Raphael’s, mom’s and dad’s. Even Michael gave in and drew something, and every detail of the city skyline he painted with his brushes seems to stand out. Then Gabriel blinks and it’s all gone. Just skin and goosebumps and the scar left by the surgery.)

“What happened?” Gabriel asks. “Where’s Mike?” He starts moving toward his brother, keeping the gun in one hand and shrugging his coat off at the same time. “Luce?”

“The shifter.” A muscle twitches in Luce’s jaw. “Knocked me out, took my clothes. Guess it’s after him,” he says. “Gimme the gun, come on.”

They are eight feet apart now, maybe less. Gabriel did get past the gates, pushing aside thoughts about shadows and chills, but he’s stopped walking once he’s reached the clown head. Luce has an arm outstretched; it’s his left arm, the one he broke, and Gabriel knows there should be a bracelet wrapped around his wrist. It’s nothing special, really, just a string of leather with a little plaque on the front, but it should be there and it’s not, it’s _not_ , and it’s wrong.

Gabriel feels nauseous.

_That’s not Luce._

“What are you doing?” the thing that looks like Luce (not him, no) says. “I said, gimme. We gotta go.”

Gabriel shakes his head and takes a step backward, leveling the gun against not-Luce’s chest. “You don’t have the bracelet.”

“…Gabe?”

“Once— once you told me it wouldn’t come off unless you cut it. So if it’s really you, why don’t you have it?” Gabriel swallows, hating how his mouth has gone dry. “And if the shifter took it, it wouldn’t be able to retie the string anyway. It’s too snug.”

Something flashes in not-Luce’s eyes. He breathes in, and for a moment Gabriel’s sure he’s about to jump him and take his chances, gun or not. With the next breath though, not-Luce lifts his arms and laughs. “Smart cookie,” he says. “Real smart. But you’re not gonna pull that trigger, uh? Little Gabe doesn’t act this way—”

“Shut up.”

“—no, Little Gabe lets people run to their death while he stays behind, safe and sound. That’s what happened to Raphael, right? You knew it was dangerous and you didn’t do shit to stop him.”

“That’s a lie!” Gabriel’s hands are shaking. Sweat is making it hard to keep a firm grip on the handle, and he wants to wipe his palms on his jeans, to push that strand of hair away from his eyes, but he doesn’t dare. Aiming at someone (some _thing_ ) who’s the spitting image of Lucifer is hard enough. “You don’t know anything about Raph. Just shut up.”

“Oh, trust me, I know enough.” Not-Luce taps the side of his head with a finger, smiles. “It’s all in here. Every thought, every secret, every memory your brother’s ever had. Wanna hear what he thinks of you? How much he blames you, how much of a bother you are? Deep down he knows you saw him packing that night, why’d—”

Gabriel fires. He’s not good with weapons, far from it, and the combination of kickback and fear makes him miss the mark. The silver bullet, one of those Meg gave him before they left the Roadhouse, tears through the side of not-Luce’s neck rather than his chest, ending somewhere behind not-Luce’s back.

“Well. Kitten’s got claws,” not-Luce snarls.

What happens next is a blur. One moment not-Luce is staggering, a hand clamped on his wound, and the next he’s knocked the gun away and has his fingers curled around Gabriel’s throat. Shifters are stronger than humans, Michael said that much. Not-Luce will squash him like he’d squash a bug. Panic starts to flutter in the back of Gabriel’s mind, and he grabs not-Luce’s wrists, trying to push him off. No dice.

“Guess I’ll do your brother a favor and rid him of your sorry ass before he dumps you on Ellen’s doorsteps again,” not-Luce says. He has blood on his teeth. “You think she’d want to play step-mom if she knew the truth about Raphael?”

“Not… m’fault…”

It’s a whisper, and not-Luce is squeezing hard now, and Gabriel can’t free himself, can’t think, can’t do anything but lie there and struggle for air. “Please,” he says as black dots clutter his vision. “Please, don’t.” He has another weapon - a silver knife hidden in his sweater - but it’s too far away and his arms are too heavy. He makes an attempt to grab it anyway, reaching down, touching fabric, hem, fabric again before slipping into the front pocket. Clutching at the handle.

“Gabe!”

Someone is calling his name. Gabriel can’t tell who; the voice sounds young and panicked (too young to be Mike’s, too panicked to be Luce’s), and there are footsteps approaching and—

The pressure around his throat lessens a fraction.

Gabriel thrusts up the knife.

+

Michael says, “You killed it, you did great,” after Gabriel’s done throwing up, and he says, “Next time you’re coming with us,” while grabbing fuel from the car trunk.

Luce says, ‘don’t speak’ and ‘it’s gonna be okay’ and ‘small sips, c’mon, like this’, and a gazillion of other things. Luce talks; he talks and hovers and talks some more, even if he must have noticed how Gabriel kept flinching when he checked his throat, because he doesn’t touch him. If anything, Gabriel’s grateful about it.

While Michael lights up the matches, Gabriel turns around and heads toward the car. The body that’s about to catch fire is just a carbon copy of Luce, sure. Still, he doesn’t want to see, and if that makes him a baby, okay. Whatever. It’s not like Raph’s around to tease him about it anyway.

_‘Course not. He’s dead._

Gabriel grits his teeth. Walks on.

Debris crunches once under the soles of his sneakers, and then again as Luce steps on it. His brother is keeping up the hovering act, but at least he’s quiet now. The silence between them only lasts until they reach the car though; Gabriel has his hand on the door handle, his thumb already poised on the button when Luce speaks up.

“Gabe. Hey.”

There’s so much fear in Luce’s voice (controlled and in-check, but there), that Gabriel goes stock still. “Yeah?” he says.

“I had no idea it looked like me. It was different when we chased it next to the coaster, but it just vanished, and… after we heard the shot we started running, and then I saw myself choking you and I— _fuck_.” In the backseat window, Gabriel watches Luce’s reflection run a hand through his hair. The plaque on his bracelet catches the last rays of sun, sending a bright flash in Gabriel’s direction. “I’m sorry. That’s it.” 

“‘S okay.”

“Yes, sure. So. If you, ah, have troubles breathing or anything, you tell me, uh? Roadhouse’s not so far away, maybe we should—”

Whatever it is that they should do never registers. Nausea rises again, dark and ugly, and Gabriel has to clutch at the handle to keep himself upright. He does it with enough strength to drive the metal into his palm. “Is it true, then?” he asks.

“What? What’s true?”

Gabriel’s throat burns, just like his eyes. “You. It. The shifter.” He pauses and looks down. Against the red paint of the car, his knuckles are white. “It said you— it said you wanted to dump me at Ellen’s. That you blame me for Raph.”

The next moment, Luce has spun him around and is holding him by the shoulders. Up close, he looks pale and hurt, and the dark circles under his eyes stand out like bruises. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice low and hurried. “What happened to Raph is not on you, you got it? It’s not. Mike’s to blame - fuck it, _I_ am - but not you. Swear to God, Gabe, you— you’re a kid, you shouldn’t even—” Luce shakes his head. It takes him a few moments to start talking again. "We never thought it was your fault. I need you to trust me on this, okay?”

Gabriel breathes in. He wants to tell Luce yes, that he believes him, only that when he opens his mouth, what comes out of it is, “I saw you packing. At Ellen’s. You thought I was asleep and you started getting all your stuff.”

“Oh. That. I just meant—”

Michael’s voice cuts him off. “What’s going on?” he asks. Neither of them noticed, but he’s a few feet away from the car, bouncing the matchbox in his palm. His eyes dart from Luce to Gabriel and back. 

“Nothing,” Luce says. He lets Gabriel go and shoves his hands into his pockets. “You done?”

“Yeah, it’s all over,” Michael says. “How’s your throat, Gabe?”

“Fine.”

“Good. We—”

It’s Luce who interrupts him this time. “We’re going to book a room. I don’t care about the money, we’re not sleeping in the car tonight.”

There’s an instant of silence, then Michael sighs. “All right.”

+

Gabriel’s about to doze off on the backseat, the side of his head plastered against the window when he catches Luce’s voice. “Hey, Gabe? What about that ice-cream?”

He pretends to be asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Nahemaraxe.
> 
> More younghunters!Novak dealing with monsters, and yes, I'm aware that setting it on the day of Gabriel's birthday makes me an awful person.
> 
> For trivia and extra-pain, you should know that the bike he was supposed to get if his life didn't go to shit is still in its hiding place. Y'know, at home. Collecting dust.


End file.
